Diary Dearest
by anche
Summary: A young fifth year writes in her diary about her new crush. Set during Tom Riddle's seventh year.


Thanks to my wonderful beta Madame Celeste from Perfect Imagination!

November 11

Dear Diary,

I did it. I can't believe it, but I did it. My hand is shaking so badly I am sure I will never be able to read these words in the future.

Gods, what have I done?

I made a mess of it. I know I did. Nothing will come of this; nothing can come of it. A story to tell my children once he is famous and I am a round, married witch living in simplicity; that is all. Nothing will come of it. Gods, here I sit, bouncing between utter despair and hysterical proud laughter. I stare up into the ceiling looking for an answer but all I see is that a spider has made a web in the corner. Spiders give no comfort. I did do it. Who would have thought I could go through with it at all?

I need to pull myself together, Alice will be back from dinner soon and she must not know that anything happened. She can never know of my... what...? Stupidity? Was it stupid?

It happened after Potions class. Old Slughorn had just started in on some inane rant about a connection he could work up for Charlotte with some mucky-muck at the Ministry. You know how he does go on. Usually, I hate when he does that but today it was my salvation. Today, I loved every self-aggrandizing word. He never even noticed me slip into the room.

Tom was just gathering his books. Gods, I could watch him doing nothing for hours and die happy! His group was there, the whole gang of them, and I almost lost my nerve. They were all laughing at some joke while Tom stood slightly alone. I don't know why he hangs around with that crowd. So often this is the case: they laugh at something stupid and sophomoric while he stands slightly apart. I know that it is because he is so much better that they could ever dream of being. My Tom...

No, he is not My Tom. And now... well now, he will never even talk to me. Ever! How stupid of me.

I don't know where I got the courage to move my legs; it felt like I was frozen in the doorway for hours. But it was not enough courage. I couldn't meet his eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid me! I just stood there, my throat closed, my hand shot out automatically, and I stared at the stone floor. I just walked up to him, glanced into his beautiful face and held out the note. The second it left my hand I fled without a backward glance. I don't even know if he spoke, but I imagine I heard a surprised, "Thanks".

Gods, it sounds so much worse on paper! I have made such a fool out of myself. I take comfort only in the fact that it will not be too hard to avoid him. I can see all of them, lounging in the Slytherin common room sharing a good laugh over it. I imagine the room to be one of faded elegance, expensive furnishings just beginning to become, ever so gracefully, worn at the edges. The perfect environment for one such as Tom. And I can see them all carelessly sitting around the fire; Tom holding up his hand to get their attention, a serious expression on his face. In the quiet he rises and stands before the group, a slight tug at the corner of his perfect mouth is the only betrayal of his internal amusement. Then he starts to read my note. He doesn't even get three sentences in before he cracks and starts to laugh. In utter hysterics, he passes the note to one of his cronies who takes up the reading with an atrocious accent and exaggerated hand gestures. This is why I am not at dinner you see. Hunger is my penitence for stupidity. Even from the safety of the Ravenclaw table I could... I may never eat again! What if he happened to look over and see me? I would die!

Why did I do it?

November 12

Dear Diary,

Gods, last night was crazy. It feels like I was another person. I am much calmer now. He will never write back, or acknowledge me. I know this and I am okay with it. I am still kind of embarrassed by the whole thing but at least it will be a great story for someday. And at least I did something instead of just daydreaming.

Today was really boring. Not much to write about at all. Alice and I went down to the lake and watched some sixth years argue. It was so cold you could see your breath. I was amused by the little delicate white puffs but Alice just rolled her eyes. I think she may fancy one of the arguing sixth years but she wouldn't say one way or the other, or who. I have mentioned Tom too often in her presence, there is no surprise in my worship. He was not at lunch today, but he often skips lunch on Saturdays. I wonder where he goes.

See! I can not even go a paragraph her without mentioning him. It is the best name I know, Tom. I wish I was one of those sleek, stylish, sophisticated Slytherins. I wish I was more grown-up and more together. I wish I was more.

November 17

Dear Diary,

I can't believe it. I about died when I found that smooth white paper carefully hidden between my History of Magic and Potions textbooks. I almost didn't want to read it, I had to tell myself that what was written was written and my not reading it would not change anything.

He wrote me back. I am so happy, but I also vaguely feel like throwing up. Gross I know. I can't think about eating or I am sure I will loose it. He doesn't think I am the biggest loser in the entire world. He actually said I possess grace in both word and action.

How many letters make a correspondence? I think we have correspondence! Can you believe it? I can't make myself believe it either. I have to hide the letters though. He suggested it and really it is for the best. Alice doesn't trust him. She just rolls her eyes and tells me to grow up when ever I talk about him. I don't know what she would say if I told her about our correspondence. Hee hee, I love that word, it is so grown-up and so full of mystery and importance. Correspondence. I think Alice is just jealous of him. She is determined to be as big a star as he is once we reach our seventh year. Sometimes I think she should have been sorted into Slytherin.

But then again she is Muggle-born. Tom has been researching the different challenges Muggle-born and pure-blood wizards face. He is so smart, sometimes it takes my breath away. I had never really though about the differences before but he makes a really good case for keeping the groups separated. I can't imagine marrying anyone less than a half-blood now. It is like Tom said, the two kinds are just fundamentally different and I can't help but think pure-blood wizards will always have the leg up. There are so many challenges that Muggle-borns face that they just cannot hope to achieve as much as we pure-bloods.

I wrote some of these thoughts back to Tom and he said he values my opinion and we should talk more. He values my opinion!

I must go to bed now but I know I will never actually sleep. Instead I will try to picture his beautiful face in my mind. And his eyes. I love his eyes!

Mrs. Tom Riddle

Mr. and Mrs. Tom Riddle

Mrs. Kathleen Riddle 3

November 27

Dear Diary,

I am so sorry it has been so long since I last wrote. I promised I would be better about keeping up with this and now look at me. I am just as bad as all those brainless girls I laugh at who get a boyfriend and then are dead to the rest of the world.

Not that I officially have a boyfriend or anything. I am not sure what I have actually. I have a friend and he needs me and I would do anything for him, but I am not sure what he really thinks of me. I mean, I know he likes me and he is always glad to see me and kind and I love being with him, but sometimes I can't help but think it is all too perfect.

But he needs me. He doesn't say so, but I think he needs me. He is so brave and so smart but he is suffering. He does his best to cover it up but I can see that he is suffering. It is in a slight tightening of his mouth and a flash in his eyes, one he quickly covers up. And he has so many enemies, people who are just waiting for him to fall. Trust is hard, so I must be patient. Eventually he will be able to completely trust me. I want him to trust me. He needs to not be so alone. I can help him. I will just have to work very hard.

You see, I was right when I said he is not like other people. No one really understands, no one really can understand. He is beyond them. And he is beyond me, but I am trying. He will change the world and I will do my best to help him. He will remake the world.

I am tired and rambling, I know. I have spent the last four nights hiding in abandoned rooms with Tom working on... No... I should not commit it to paper, not even here. Tom would be furious if he found out. It is not safe. I can't even trust my own protection spells. Tom is letting me help and I am not going to throw that chance away, especially not so I can write freely in a silly little diary. I would die for him.

December 3

Dear Diary,

I write now to stay awake. I'm going to meet Tom at midnight but it has been such a long day that I am afraid I will fall asleep and miss him. His voice sounded so strange... so cold and preoccupied today. I was almost afraid.

No, I am not afraid. He is Tom. He was just tired and excited, something big is happening tonight. And he wants me there. There is nothing to be afraid of. Nothing. But I am often afraid now. 'Adults are always afraid; they just learn how to cover it up.' I don't remember who told me that but it seems appropriate. I am growing up, that is all. Tom needs me to be an adult, not a scared crying child, and so I will be.

Today was a hard day, which is why I am dwelling on such dark thoughts. I could not get my ferret to turn into anything resembling a hand bag. I was on the verge of bursting into tears when Nelson did the spell perfectly. Actually that is not true, I wasn't going to cry I was going to curse him into next week. And I would have too if Alice had not stopped my hand. How strange, I am not usually that aggressive. I am just so tired these days. That is all. And all my spare time and energy seems to go to Tom.

I hope that Tom is not working himself too hard. He really did startle me today. I was just leaving the Great Hall after lunch when he grabbed me and practically shoved me into an empty classroom. And really, he ordered me to come tonight instead of his usual careful checking to make sure I am free and will not be missed. He is stretching himself thin what with his project and N.E.W.T.S. coming up soon, and then he has life after Hogwarts to think about. I am sure he will be apologetic tonight. He was so sweetly apologetic after the last time he shoved me.

Oh! It is almost midnight now and I look a fright; stupid tears. I must go and make myself presentable for Tom. Maybe I will wear the red shirt. It is Muggle clothing, but he said he liked it the last time I wore it.

From the diary of Alice Vance:

December 19

I visited Kathleen today. St. Mungo's always gives me the creeps. I hope she will not have to stay much longer. She seems much better now, but they don't think she will ever regain all of her memory or ever be... be who she once was. They say it is sad, a waste, a tragedy, but none of those words are adequate. This is a crime! What happened to her?

There is so much no one can answer. What was she doing in that empty classroom, by herself, in the middle of the night? And she looked rough, her clothing torn, a shoe missing. How did she get the dirt and blood in her hair? Whose blood was in it her hair for that matter? They said that when they questioned her about that night she just shut down. Her eyes went blank and she began rocking and sucking on her fingers.

Someone does not want her to tell us what she saw or did that night. And I think know who, but no one will listen to me. "It is a very serious charge to lie at the feet of the Head Boy," Slughorn told me when I did attempt to get help. Professor Dumbledore seemed like he wanted to ask me more about my suspicions but Slughorn just ignored him and hustled me out of the room. Like I was the one who had done something wrong! I guess in his eyes I did, I dared to tarnish the reputation of his perfect golden boy.

Tom did everything but call me a flat out liar. He is denying the evenings they spent together, denying the notes, denying everything but pity. Did they actually believe his story of Kathleen having a childish obsessive crush? He did bring up a good point though. What could the seventh year Head Boy possibility want with a mousy fifth year? I told her he was no good. Why didn't she listen to me?

The golden boy has a flaw in him and now my best friend needs someone to help her feed herself. But maybe they are right and I am just delusional in my grief. I miss her so much. There is an empty spot in class and people are all talking in that sugary concerned voice. I just wish I knew what happened to her. She was a good person. She did not deserve this.


End file.
